


monochrome syndrome

by ToasTea



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Happy Ending, Nurse!Dany to the rescue, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23198155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasTea/pseuds/ToasTea
Summary: Until now, something else has begun emerging from its cocoon, its shape outlined by the small bumps and dotted with unfamiliar colors.Modern AU.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 43
Kudos: 48
Collections: Jorleesi Equinox Exchange -Spring 2020





	1. monochromatic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chryssadirewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chryssadirewolf/gifts).



> First time venturing outside of my comfort zone with this piece (GOT universe). I was never quite confident in my ability to translate GOT into a modern setting so this was a good challenge. I feel like I did ok at the very least! If not, please contact the lawyer I can’t afford.
> 
> And to the talented chryssadirewolf,
> 
> I’d like to apologize in advance for my lack of knowledge in the graphics industry (google and youtube weren’t enough for my peanut brain) and ill acquaintance with Jane Austen books. The only one I’ve “read” was Pride and Prejudice many years back in my first year of high school. I was regrettably one of “those” students who decided other things were more important than their education and used the internet to scrape by Literature class. As such, Sense and Sensibility was never within my range. I’m truly sorry for not being able to incorporate your other prompt, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive this potato and that the fluff in this is enough to make up for the lack of substance. 
> 
> As compensation, you may also have my fridge and life insurance policy.
> 
> Much love.

”What is it, Doreah?”

“I am trying to plug in my new printer, but I cannot reach the outlet.”

“Alright,” he sighs, “Let me take a look.”

He moves around her desk and inches his arm into the tiny crevice as far as he could go. Thank the seven his arm span was long enough. 

It’s a simple solution, but it requires him to bend a bit more than he has to. Doreah hums behind him, probably scrolling through her phone or something. 

“There,” he finally says, righting himself and brushing the dust off his arms and legs. “You might have to adjust a few settings since it’s new, but that should be easy.”

“Can you put these in for me?”

“Put what in?”

She holds up her ink toners and smiles innocently. “These. You are good at putting them in, fast too. No?”

* * *

The door to Irri’s office was conveniently left open by the time Jorah arrived. He’s not surprised at this point considering how many times he’s already been here. 

“Let me guess,” he says popping his head into her office for what feels like the umpteenth time, “it switched back to RGB by itself again.”

“Yes, I am not sure why it keeps doing this,” says Irri. “It is impossible to get any work done like this.”

“And you’ve tried restarting it?”

Irri nods. 

“Turned it off and turned it back on again?”

She nods again.

“Updating your drivers? Uninstalling and reinstalling the program?”

Yes again.

“At this rate, I’m pretty sure you need a new monitor,” he mumbles under his breath.

He made to move to her desk, excusing himself as his large form maneuvered into the crevice of her small workspace. 

“You know we have an I.T guy for this, right?” he says without tearing his gaze away from the monitor.

“Sam is too far, too slow. You are closer.”

His only response is a half-hearted grunt as the rest of his focus is directed at diagnosing a problem he isn’t paid to do. 

“Smell better too,” she says behind him. Her voice is lower than he remembers, but he doesn’t fully process her words since it has nothing to do with the issue at hand. Small talk was never his forte and it most definitely didn’t run in his family.

There were a million search results to sift through on Google regarding this problem. His bones would become one with all universal particles by the time he got this problem fixed. 

But he has to remember this was self-inflicted. Out of everyone in Dragon’s Bay, he is the worst at refusing someone in need. 

He heard movement behind him, but he paid little attention to it as he scrolled through the pages. There’s an irritable prick nibbling in his gut, the feeling of eyes crawling up and down his back, watching his every move, but he quickly denounces that as pent-up stress. 

The faster he got this over with, the faster he could get back to his work. His external was practically begging to be emptied - eight terabytes worth of both client and employee work to review and he’s barely made a dent.

But here he stands instead. Trapped in a vicious cycle because he couldn’t say no. 

_Ugh. We hired Samwell for a reason...I know we did,_ he complains to himself.

Work for ten minutes, help Doreah, go back and work for another ten, help Doreah again, work for ten, help Irri…. 

The window down the hallway was beckoning him to jump and at this rate, he was more than happy to oblige. It would be more merciful than this. 

Someone clears their throat behind him and the sound immediately pulls him from his task.

There could be multiple realities within this universe and he would still be able to distinguish her voice from anyone else’s in all of them. 

Jorah chances a peek over his shoulder and straightens immediately when he sees his silver-haired boss. His heart does a little leap, as it always does whenever he sees her. It was pathetic, but it was both his blessing and curse to bear until the end of his days. 

She’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed with amusement spreading across her beautiful face.

“There you are.”

* * *

The look on his face is comical, akin to a child caught stealing candy even though he’s done nothing wrong.

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to,” says Daenerys. 

“Forgive me, Daenerys. I’ve been helping the others with technical problems and my office is just down the hall so…”

She watches him fold his hands in front of him. It’s one of his most obvious signs of being nervous. She had a hunch of what it could be, but would inquire about that later. 

A small smile arcs her lips. Jorah Mormont has been her most hard-working and selfless employee she’s ever known. Helping others at his own expense is exactly the man she’s come to know. The man who stood by her when Dragon’s Bay was but a small rented office. He has played a large part in their success and continues to do so to this day.

From a staff of twenty to hundreds, a small office to an entire building, from a girl who had nothing to a woman who rose to the top of this chaotic ladder. Through successes and through failures, she has cleaved through it all with faith. In herself, and in him. 

Daenerys wishes he could see what she and many others see. 

She nods at Irri. “We’ve got a lot of clients to get through and I need every person available, including Jorah. I’ll have Tyrion order a new monitor for you and ring in Sam.”

Irri shoots her a knowing smile. She and Doreah were always the more adventurous ones out of her employees, and her playfulness doesn’t slip by Daenerys. 

Neither did the woman’s earlier advances. 

It’s almost endearing seeing him so oblivious to women trying to flirt with him, like a newborn puppy who had opened its eyes to the world for the first time. It saddens her as well because she too finds charm in his weathered features.

But a small part in the pit of her stomach was elated knowing he didn’t reciprocate any advances from her female employees.

Like a mirror, jealousy stares into the depths of her soul. A smirking reflection that taunts what she thought could not be. 

But she refuses to give in to it. No, it’s not jealousy...maybe a bit, but not really.

They excuse themselves from Irri’s office, but not before Daenerys makes sure she calls Sam next time and not Jorah. For professional reasons of course, but her words came out more possessive than intended, something Irri underlined when she simply replied with ‘it is known.’ 

Thankfully, Jorah didn’t pick up on anything that had transpired and they simply made their way back to his office in silence.

“How’s everything coming along?” she asks.

His shoulders visibly sag when he hears the door click shut and sighs while leaning against the desk. “You mean how’s everything _not_ coming along?”

She offers him a sad smile. He carries more weight than necessary and shares none of it. All while offering his time and expertise to others at his own expense. 

“I know we have a lot of work to do, but the last thing I need is you ripping out all of your hair.”

“Those files aren’t going to finish themselves with or without hair.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair seems like it was as soft as it looks to her.

“Besides, I think I look mildly presentable bald.”

She giggles. There’s a sudden urge to run her fingers through his golden locks she has to suppress. “You could have Gene Simmons hair and you’d still look presentable.”

“Now you’re just being _too_ nice.”

“There’s some honesty in there if you look harder.”

“If it’s too hard to find, it doesn’t exist.”

“That’s not logic. That’s just denial and you know it, silly,” she jests. 

He scoffed at that and raised his hands in defeat. “Fine...but I’d rather go bald than don a Gene Simmons.”

“Fair enough,” she chuckles. 

It was always like this behind the safety of closed doors, like they had tucked themselves away into their own little world where business and personal endeavors could coexist peacefully, without that crevice separating them. With him, just him, she was just Daenerys. A woman basking in the companionship of another in a place where veneers were a must to maintain position and power. 

He understood her, read her better than anyone ever could, knew her moods, what she liked and disliked, what made her tick. 

It’s only natural that she in return knew how to help him cope with his stress. She makes sure he’s comfortable first before they delve into work-related tasks. Innocent flirting here and there has been a routine between them, away from prying eyes. It uplifts her knowing she was the only woman he would willingly banter with, whether it was intentional or not. 

They eventually slip back into work relatively easily. He shares his ideas for certain clients, his notes for employee work and how it could be improvised. She tells him about what they could do to innovate their weekly podcasts, maybe even think about updating their banner and what colors would work for which project. She is his boss, and he is her best employee. They compromise and pave a two-way street. She trusts him as he does her. 

Eventually, Daenerys excuses herself from his office, finding herself missing his presence more than the times before. They had met up outside of work plenty of times, but for the purest intentions. Whenever the weather proved to be too much for walking, meeting at their favorite cafe when either of them had one of _those_ days, crashing at the other’s place, walking her home whenever she stayed late no matter the hour. 

He was the additional piece she needed to emotionally recover from an arranged marriage with Drogo, the friend who encouraged her happiness and newfound freedom from her father’s politics with Daario. 

When she looks back, she feels nothing for leaving Daario behind in the Netherlands. A fling that once held a flame but gradually faded into a meager candle until it had no more wax to rely on. She’s thankful for his business and his sponsorship, but she’s also thankful for the indirect lesson he’s taught her - how he is not fit for the seat in her heart. 

When she looks back, her memories of the man who has supported her for so long are much clearer than she remembers. He looked as though he was in pain, but remained steadfast and strong as he always had. His posture was more stiff, more tense whenever Daario was in the room, whenever Daario would shamelessly flirt with her in front of her staff. She remembers a brief conversation with Jorah back then, the weight of its reminiscence is heavier than it originally felt. 

_You don’t trust him._

_For now, no._

_Why? If he’s given an indication that he’s going to walk away from this deal, I must have missed it._

_He...has a history of dealing in the black market, Daenerys. I am simply telling you to be wary._

The tentative pause between his words is more vivid to her, speaks louder than it did before when she could not hear nor see it. The stiffness in his bearded jaw, his clenched fists, the ache leaking from his heart and flooding his face despite his best efforts to keep his professionalism afloat. 

Past fights and disagreements have brought them pain, but with pain came strength. And it seems as though with every scar formed from their journey together in this twisted industry, the bond between them has grown stronger.

Until now, something else has begun emerging from its cocoon, its shape outlined by the small bumps and dotted with unfamiliar colors.

Her most experienced employee and dearest friend...Perhaps he is also her—

The buzz of her phone derails her train of thoughts and when she pulls it out of her pocket, the name that appears on the screen gives her an instant migraine: Aerys Targaryen.

Daenerys groans then lets her forehead collapse against her office door. 

It’s going to be one of _those_ days.

* * *

Her father Aerys has been a constant thorn in her side ever since she ventured off onto her own endeavors. Unsolicited advice under the guise of backhanded compliments. Telling her what topics to cover and which ones would reel in the viewership.

But Dragon’s Bay was best known for investing themselves in topics no other company would dare talk about. She will not yield to the criticism of the public nor her father, especially when she has an established and loyal fanbase.

Besides that hiccup...the rest of the day went rather smoothly.

Daenerys ultimately decided to stay late and smother herself with work in order to drown out thoughts of her father. What would have helped her mood was seeing Jorah at least one more time throughout the day, but there was work to be done. Sentiments such as that had no other place when she had an example to set for her people.

She began closing up the office after the last employee left for the day, and when she stepped outside for the first time in hours, she instantly regrets not bringing a jacket. 

“Seven Hells,” she mumbles to herself as she pulls out her phone

‘5 C.’

She should be used to this, born and raised here in London after all. But she was more inclined to warmth than any other being in this city. 

Born and raised, sure. Didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Large cookies and cream milkshake extra whip, ham and swiss croissant, and two lemon tarts.” 

She smiles at the voice, the cold briefly vanquishes underneath his warm, husky rumble.

She turns and accepts her take out which Jorah graciously ordered for her. Daenerys was the experimental type, never just ordering one thing for long. Her orders were mostly based on mood, and Jorah hit the nail on the head yet again. She stopped having to tell him what she wanted long ago. 

She never doubted him. He knew her the best. And just knowing that is nourishment for her heart, a soft and fleeting caress that leaves a pleasant tingle in her body, like a boy had just handed her a bouquet of flowers. 

“Thank you,” she says, a puff of air leaving her lips.

“Of course. Are you sure you don’t want to talk for a bit at The Butterfly?” he asks, concern furrowing his brows.

She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine, Jorah. Go home and get some rest.” 

She would not lean any more on him tonight. He has been selfless enough for one day. As much as her heart yearns for shelter in the warmth of his presence, it’s her turn to add weight to the scale and be the selfless one for him.

“You know I would do more for you. Always,” he says, his blue eyes swimming with feelings he could never hope to hide.

Many have said this to her, pledged to support her like this, but only when those words leave his lips would she genuinely believe it. His conviction is there, subtle yet strong nevertheless. His never-ending devotion is more intoxicating than she remembers, and it nearly clouds her mind with feelings she knew she would regret if acted upon.

She steels herself though, and places a gentle hand on his arm. “I know you would,” she says softly. “I’ll be ok though, I promise.”

He opens his mouth to protest, his eyes flickering between her purple ones until it clamps shut after a few moments.

Wordlessly, he takes off his coat and drapes it over her shoulders.

“What are you doing? You’ll get sick!”

“I’ve worn less in this weather before and never got sick. Don’t worry.”

She scoffs at him, but doesn’t say anymore. She doesn’t have enough energy to argue any further after today. 

His hands are still on the lapels, and she stills him from moving away by placing her own over them.

When she nods in thanks, his eyes grow softer, dancing with a gentle mirth evoked by the oversized coat covering her petite form. A faint smile takes a hold of his lips, one as rare as the blue moon. One she knew he only displayed for her. One she adored, especially when paired with his cold-bitten cheeks and his cute black beanie. One that made her feel special like a queen. 

She’s not sure if it’s the heat from his hands or the allure of his ocean eyes that sparked the flame she felt in the space between them as though it were their own hearth. A flame that not even winter could touch. Like a dragon, she naturally gravitates towards warmth. Dragons did not fear fire.

This was the only fire that could be doused by the ounce of fear she felt sloshing beneath her ribs.

She’s the first to break contact, licks her lips as though they were chapped and steps away. Her hands immediately miss the heat from his hands when she reluctantly pulls away. She’s sure he felt it too.

If she looks up, she’s sure he’ll see the disappointment spreading across his handsome face, so she doesn’t. 

Instead, she busies herself with the buttons on his large coat. “Goodnight, Jorah.”

“Goodnight, Daenerys,” he replies softly. “Missandei said to text her when you get home.”

She nods and turns to leave.

She could feel his eyes on her the entire time. Like a guardian watching over her, a shield covering all points of her defense. He wants to make sure she makes it down the street safely, as he always does when she leaves by herself at this hour.

She takes the opportunity to pull the collars closer to her face and sniffs.

His natural scent still lingers profoundly. It surges through her nostrils, invoking a pleasant mix of wood and pine with remnants of his cologne. 

When she arrives home, she treats herself to her high-calorie meal while venting to her best friend then prepares for bed. She retreats underneath the covers after, but not without his coat. Warmth spreads through her body like a blooming flower, much more than what her comforter could offer. 

Behind her eyelids, his coat is the shield that protected her from the cold. His scent and voice are the songs that lull her into the dream realm. 

She sees a golden sheen surrounding a handsome knight and the glistening silver of his beautiful queen. A pair safeguarded by so much love that neither the black nor the greys of winter could ever taint them.


	2. polychromatic

“Never got sick, huh?”

Jorah’s only response is a grunt as he shifts under the blankets.

Daenerys places her hand underneath his neck and lifts him just enough so his lips touch the glass of water. He’s warm to the touch, too warm in fact. And she was never the type to shy away from heat.

“Daenerys,” his voice is hoarse from sickness, “you shouldn’t. I...can take care of myself.”

“Yeah. You really proved it by nearly fainting face-first onto the street.”

“I—”

Words are consumed by a sudden coughing fit and Daenerys immediately brings the cup of water back to his lips again. 

The stubborn fool could barely make it into his office this morning. 

She had found him staggering through the entrance. He was deathly pale, words barely structured into a proper sentence and his equilibrium paired with his shivering were no better in the elevator. Her hand immediately went to his forehead, and that was enough for her to drag him into a cab, work be damned.

Dragon’s Bay would be left to Tyrion’s care for the next few days. Jorah has made plenty of sacrifices for her. It’s only natural for her to do the same for him. 

Daenerys only hopes there’s still a company to return to afterward. 

“Your people need you, Daenerys,” he wheezes. “You can’t be here.”

Seeing him in so much pain hurts her. 

But what hurts her the most was how selfless he was being even now. Even when he struggles to combat the flu, his thoughts are always of her. What was best for her, what she should do for the cause he so devotedly stood behind with her all these years. 

It feels like there’s a nail in her chest and his words were the hammer that drove it in. Her heart constricts underneath its sharp prick as her affections slowly trickle from the wound.

Her fingers reach for his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“I can and I will,” she says with a fierce certainty. “I’m not leaving you until I know you’re better.”

His lips part to protest, but she shushes him with a finger.

“Stop. You’re in no position to argue and you know that.”

The brief silence that overcomes them is tense, but it is relieved just as quickly when he reluctantly concedes to her overwhelming conviction.

Satisfied with his resignation, she dumps a few pills she’d grabbed from his cabinet into her hand. 

“Here.”

She does what she can to help his large figure sit up with her free arm so that his back was against the headboard. 

When he downs the last pill, she helps him adjust under the covers again. He’s still shivering, not just from the chills but possibly from the aches that came from moving as well. 

She moves the cloth around his face and his neck in order to keep him cool. When she finishes her ministrations, she dips it in the bowl of ice water on the nightstand before laying it on his forehead again. 

A companionable silence washes over them, with her cooling his face with the washcloth every few minutes and regularly checking his temperature. He eventually falls under the effects of the pills, and she seizes this moment to take a breather. 

A deep breath escapes her lips as she leans back in her chair. The added stress and worry from today has made her feel like she’d just stabilized a wounded soldier.

As the tension from today relieves itself from her body, she finds herself seeking solace in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His breaths are still sharp from sickness but contrasted by his soft snore. 

She finds herself smiling softly at the adorable noise. She was so used to seeing him as a pillar of strength. An illumination of a strong and steadfast knight like in the fairytales. Always sacrificing himself for others and the greater good, always being the strength and counsel that the weak needed. 

Her eyes slowly trail across his face. His features were always steeled with experience hardened in the lines of his face, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the creases in his forehead. Always looking like a man who had a wealth of wisdom and strength, an infinite amount of patience and composure paired with the strength and conviction of a bear. 

He’s an expert at absorbing the blacks and the greys from people’s lives and filling it with a multitude of vibrant colors, yet shies away when even an ounce taints the monochromatic destiny he’s resigned to. He is the giver, never the receiver. The divide between black and white; what he does not deserve and what he yearns for. 

She has always known this, but when the austerity beneath his public facade is softened by sleep, she feels as though she were experiencing an entirely new revelation despite its familiarity. 

The outline on the cocoon is more pronounced until it bursts from its cursed shell. The burst of colors dyes its wings with a familiar yet more profound vibrancy, deeper than the blues of the sea, greener than the spring leaves, brighter than the sun itself. An entirely separate universe finally retaliating after being dormant for too long and pillaging its prison. When it spreads its wings for the first time and takes flight, she feels her heart soar with it, bringing color to what she couldn’t see until its natural maturation. 

It is bright and warm and filters throughout her body like a stream of water returning to a deprived land. 

She loves him. So much that she wants to rouse him from rest and soothe his battered heart with this revelation. To finally break the chains that have dictated his fate for too long. She wants to see the soft smile that he reserved only for her, to hear his rare and velvety laugh, his wit, his sarcasm, to breathe his natural scent and never forget it.

Things she has liked before but now loves more than ever. 

Tears threaten to spill, but she refuses to be weak for him when he is already so vulnerable. Even when he sleeps, she wishes to be strong for him as he has done for her so many times before.

Instead, she kisses her fingers and places it on his brow. She turns them a bit and trails the strength of his cheek with the back of her fingers, his rough stubble sends a comforting and pleasant tingle throughout her chest. His hair, normally kept neat, is adorably messy, golden baby curls more prominent than before. Her fingers find their way through his locks and savours its soft contrast against his coarse beard.

He can’t know. At least, not now when he’s in this state where lines are blurred for him.

She will show him when he is well again. The new colors her heart has sung for her.

* * *

His condition is slightly better the next day, but no more. The fever still persists but under her watchful eye, he at least is eating properly and taking his medicine on time. 

Daenerys takes the time to make rounds around his condo when he sleeps, having been too caught up in caring for him to fully absorb her surroundings.

He keeps only the necessities, never one to care for extravagant decor. The only things she sees as mementos are photos of his cousins and late father. There is a boy in one of them with the same blonde hair reading a book. Another with the same boy, but he was hiding behind his father. 

Only then does it hit her that he’s never talked about his family much, let alone his past. She knows he’s an only child, knows his mother died when he was but a boy, knows Lynesse abandoned him despite giving his everything to her. 

She knows the barebones but has never inquired about any of it as she was far too focused on rising within a relentless industry. 

She finds herself wanting to know more like a book waiting to be read.

Wet coughs from the bedroom pull her back to reality and she’s instantly by his side.

“Jorah,” she calls.

She checks his fever. It’s lowered a bit, but still relatively high.

When the coughing subsides, she is gifted with a small glint of his blue eyes. Hooded from fatigue, dazed by illness but softened by what escaped from his heart when there was nothing to enforce its silence.

The corner of his lips twitch upwards ever so slightly as his eyes flicker across her face. 

“...Jorah?” she says again with more worry in her voice.

“There are times when I look at you and I still can’t believe you’re real,” he breathes.

She inhales sharply.

His words hit hard. 

She feels its impact colliding against her chest, its shockwave is more profound than breaking the sound barrier. His soft declaration deafens her, its ring mutes the sound of passing cars and a plane passing above as if he’d just showed her a glimpse of a world he yearned for. 

He is overcome by exhaustion once more, lulled back to sleep by the medicine. She exhales for what feels like the first time in minutes and licks her dry lips.

It is not fear that imprisons her but rather shock. He was never the best at hiding his true feelings. Others could read him as easily as a book just as she could. His feelings were no secret.

But there was a strong wall between knowing and confronting, and his soft declaration had enough strength to crush it to pieces. 

She gently smiles at his sleeping form and takes his weathered hand in hers, her thumb tracing over the veins.

“You stole the words right out of my mouth, silly” she whispers.

* * *

Jorah is healthy enough to return to work on the second week, much to Daenerys’ delight.

As much as she wished to be with him longer, he was strong enough to care for himself after the first week. She didn’t leave without threatening to fire him if he did anything that would impede his healing process, a semi-jest he took well. 

In lieu of the madness over the past few weeks, she had forgotten about his coat and made sure to wash it before returning it today. 

When her shift ends, she finds him waiting by the entrance outside just like she asked him to. It’s chilly but not as cold as it was before thankfully.

“Sorry, I stayed a bit to discuss a few things for next week with Tyrion,” she says jogging up to him. 

“Don’t be,” he replies. 

He looks more adorable and handsome than before despite his usual dressings. A green beanie with a black tribal bear on its hind legs stitched at the center, a dark navy coat that vaguely resembles the one in her arms.

She has to take him shopping some time for clothes. And house decor. 

They walked the usual path to their go-to cafe owned by Missandei and Torgo in silence. Whenever she was feeling down, they could always talk there at The Butterfly. 

This walk is a bit different, however. Instead of the usual distance, she wraps the coat and herself around his arm. She feels him tense, but he doesn’t say anything. He probably thinks she’s doing this because she’s cold, knowing him. 

She stops them short of the entrance and he turns to her with an inquiring look.

“Is something the matter, Daenerys?”

She smiles gently and nods. She uses her arms to turn him so that he’s fully facing her. The confusion that floods his face and parts his lips make her heart sing. She adores him so much and she’s sure he understands but continues to fight it nevertheless. 

She hands him the jacket, grabs his lapels to leverage herself as she stands on her tippy toes, and softly presses her lips against his. The cold thaws against the heat radiating between them, her nose gently sliding against his cheek, her nostrils are gifted with the wood and forestry that protected her dreams. She feels as though she’s drifting above the clouds. 

She can feel him immediately tensing beneath her, feels the weight of the coat hitting her shoes as he drops it. 

When she pulls back, his eyes are wide as saucers, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

She feels his warm breath fanning against her face, feels the weight of how long he had held it. 

His eyes searched her features as though he were seeking something, anything to return to the monochrome she had rid him of with her kiss. 

He is hesitant, scared but cannot divide what yearns and what he does not deserve any longer and gives into the pull of her light. His hand finds residence on her waist while the other on her cheek, so gently as if he was afraid she was the illusion that would shatter before him. The cold in his calloused hands bite at her skin, but she doesn’t flinch away from it because she knows it pales against the warmth of his affections.

He thumbs her cheekbone and the way his eyes drink her image fills her with a never-ending wave of love for him. 

She allows him to pull her in, tentatively again. 

Their lips meet once more. 

He closes his eyes this time and slides his lips against her. 

He explores and she lets him. 

His patience is infectious and she doesn’t mind basking in this high for a bit longer despite public eyes. 

He’s the one who pulls back this time.

When he opens his eyes again, she sees it rush in. The burst of colors that have broken past his self-built dam, the reality that he is real, she is real, _they_ are real.

She can feel its rush through her blood as well and it pushes them together for a third time.

There’s more heat in this kiss. His hands fully sliding around her as he tugs her closer. His fervor, the heat radiating from him, the outline of his lithe and strong frame against hers, his breathy moan, the desire that takes control of him. The feel of the soft hair through her fingers.

Their breaths are labored when they part, spurred from passion. His warm breath is a welcoming contrast against the cold.

He leans his forehead against hers and swallows the emotions in his throat. “Daenerys, is...is this…”

“Yes,” she replies immediately.

“...Real?”

She chuckles. “Very.”

He smiles, but this one is different. One she remembers seeing once long ago. Too long ago that she has forgotten as he has forgotten his mother’s face. 

A smile that is soft and reveals laugh lines she’s seldom seen, one that teases the whites of his teeth and is paired with a soft laugh that is visible against the chill air.

She is discovering new things with him everyday. He is book that she never wants to end.

He looks like a new man like he's been invigorated by new colors. 

His eyes are bluer than before, like a beautiful sea settling after years of fighting pollution. His hair is a brighter glean of gold, more precious than the ore itself as though the light greys add to its richness. Like lingering remnants of old habits that would be hard to break moving forward, but also something she would help heal with time and love. 

His skin appears brighter, as though it were enriched by the elation flooding through interconnected streams created by their hearts in this polychromatic world they’ve created—

“Oh my days.”

A voice from the entrance brings them back to reality, but neither one of them pulls away.

They both turn to see Missandei is leaning against the door she’s just opened. Her mouth is agape, but it slowly morphs into a smirk.

“Girl,” she begins, “get your arse in here and start talking.”

She points a finger at Jorah who shrugs innocently. “You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for any spelling/grammar issues I might have missed.


End file.
